


Heavy Petting

by elleTchj



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Kallus is a furry, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Unrequited Crush, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26708065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleTchj/pseuds/elleTchj
Summary: Kallus has a problem. A big purple problem.Maybe making out with a wookie will help him with that.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Chewbacca, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 13
Kudos: 82





	Heavy Petting

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you start doing something as a joke and somehow end up being way too invested? I am tragically self-aware of how silly it is but it haunted me so there we are.

It’s not the shame that drives him. Not exactly.

He cannot put a name on his feelings, for fear of making it too real. But, for his mission’s sake, he has to deal with them nonetheless.

It pushes him to seek unbecoming places on Nar Shaddaa, bars and clubs that cater to patrons with an appetite for a particular type of pleasures.

Kallus pushes the door of such an establishment late one night, long after his shift had ended. He’s become an expert at losing anyone on his trail since becoming a spy. Useful to relay information to the rebellion, but that’s not his aim tonight.

Tonight, he means to rid his mind of fur and claws.

The bar is filled with smoke and smells of spice and other less-pleasant perfumes. It can only be called _seedy_ , if one if being nice. It’s exactly what Kallus is looking for. The patrons are less likely to talk, and hopefully will forget about his presence as soon as he leaves.

Kallus sits on a stool by the counter and gestures to the bartender. _The strongest thing you have_ , he asks. The bubbling dark blue liquor isn’t appealing, but he needs the kick to loosen up, discard his inhibitions.

Looking around, Kallus assesses the situation. He doesn’t know exactly what (who) he is looking for yet, only that he needs not to think about bold lavender stripes anymore. They haunt his dreams and disturb his work and only one name ever escapes his lips in rare moments of ecstasy.

It just can’t go on like this. Kallus just needs to get it out of his system once and for all so he can focus on what really matters. On righting his many wrongs.

From a dimly lit corner, the telling sound of Shyriiwook catches Kallus’s attention. A _wookie_.

_What, you’ve never seen a hairless wookie before?_

No, not thinking of _him_. The goal is to get rid of these thoughts in the first place.

It’s easier to send a glass over after he down his drink under the bartender’s amused gaze. Hopefully, the alcohol also helps his Shyriiwook, or the scraps of it Kallus remembers at least.

To his surprise, his old-fashioned flirting attempt works. Kallus sees the waiter deposit the glass in front of the wookie and the other two humans at his table. (hopefully, not of the romantic kind). A scuffle ensues, the humans thinking they’re the recipient of the gift, and the waiter trying to convince them otherwise.

He looks familiar, that wookie. With the little light their booth is getting, it’s hard to tell, and Kallus chooses to ignore his gut feeling. He’s just paranoid, he convinces himself. It’s a big galaxy, and the probability he would run into someone he knows is infinitesimal.

Suddenly, the table attendees turn toward Kallus in one movement, and he gives a shy wave of his hand. He hasn’t attempted anything of this sort in years, even less so with a non-human, and he feels utterly out of touch. Heat starts creeping up his face and he considers running off.

He doesn’t get the chance.

The wookie, in all his hairy glory, gets up, walks towards the counter and sits down next to Kallus, shooting him an inquisitive glance.

 _H-hello._ Kallus stammers in his unpracticed Shyriiwook, the guttural sounds getting stuck in his throat.

_I haven’t seen you here before._

_This is new/different/unusual for me._ Kallus stumbles on the words, drawing a chuckle from the wookie.

_I understand basic, you know._

“Oh.” Kallus quickly takes his glass to his lips in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, before remembering it is empty and he’s made an even bigger fool out of himself.

He feels out of place in the low lights and surrounded by shady characters, vulnerable as a first-year recruit without his uniform. _You’re not much better than them_ , the voice in his head whispers.

 _So, what’s the drink for?_ The wookie asks, seemingly amused by Kallus’s awkward posturing. It’s hard to tell. Humans aren’t very good at reading the subtle ways wookies express emotions. Smell signals are harder to parse than ears folding back and no, kriff, Kallus’s thinking about _him_ again.

“I thought it was quite obvious.”

The wookie raises his eyebrows and sizes Kallus up, slowly and deliberately. Kallus is aware that anyone can tell he’s not from around here, even with his civilian clothes. It’s the Coruscanti accent and the way he stands, stiff and straight. (Some have described it as ‘having a stick up his ass’, in less glorious terms).

 _You’re an Imperial._ The way the wookie says it, like it’s fact, makes something in Kallus’s gut twist. It’s not aggressive at least, which leads Kallus to believe he still has a shot.

“Off-duty. I’m not looking for trouble, I swear.” Well. Not the kind of trouble that ends with a squad of troopers barrelling through the door. More the kind that involves a warm body against Kallus’s own and a headache in the morning.

 _Not many imps into non-humans._ The wookie sounds on edge. Anyone would be, meeting an agent of the Empire in a place that houses most of the unlawful business in the galaxy.

“I’m not like most imps.” Kallus says sharply. He doesn’t know what he’s like anymore. He can’t be called an Imperial, nor does he want to. But a rebel? He isn’t that either. That night, he’s only a man trying to get over an ill-fated infatuation.

And he’s tired of this game of pretend.

Kallus wraps his arms around the wookie’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. It’s impulsive but he’s drunk and he desperately wants to be touched. To feel fur under his bare hands and a strong grip around his waist, a facsimile of what he really yearns for.

Despite the rushed embrace, they easily find each other’s lips, and the wookie gingerly returns the kiss.

Kallus closes his eyes, and pretends the fur he clutches at is purple.

He pretends the mouth pressed against his is bigger, that if he reached up higher, he would find feline ears to tug on.

He knows it’s unfair to his partner for the night, that he’s using the poor man, but he can’t help himself. His mind invokes images he can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

 _No,_ Kallus reminds himself. _You’re here to fix those unbecoming thoughts of yours. You’re here to forget about him, and you will do so._

To that effect, Kallus moves closer to the wookie, straddling his lap. The alien is so much bigger than himself and it sends a rush coursing through his body, snaking through his chest and settling in the pit of his stomach.

The wookie growls in Kallus’s mouth, and wraps his (enormous) arms around the Imperial. Kallus suddenly remembers that wookies are known to dismember their enemies and that shouldn’t get him going but it clearly does.

He’s always had a thing for danger.

Kallus gasps and the wookie takes advantage of his open mouth to deepen the kiss, allowing Kallus to run his tongue over sharp teeth. Their embrace becomes heated, the wookie’s hand making their way from Kallus’s hips to his ass. Kallus feels his head spinning when he tugs him even closer, flush against his furred chest.

For an instant, Kallus considers that they’re in public, that maybe getting felt up by a wookie in a Nar Shaddaa bar isn’t the healthiest way to deal with whatever _that_ is.

 _Kark it_ , he decides. _I’m drunk and tired and I’m not going to deny myself all of this._ He means the vast expense of fur against his front, the way it feels soft even through his shirt, the warmth radiating all the way to his guts.

Experimentally, Kallus rocks against the wookie. It’s a bit awkward, with the size difference, but it alleviates some of the pressure in his lower parts. He moans into the alien’s mouth, unabashedly.

Shutting his eyes again, he lets himself get lost in the sensations of strong hands keeping him pinned, of heady smell that make him lose his usual composure.

He moans his partner’s name, running his hands down until they’re buried in the fur of his chest.

Gently, the wookie pushes Kallus away.

 _Zeb?_ The other man asks.

Kallus realized he has most definitely messed up.

“It’s just- It’s no one important.” Kallus pleads as he tries to kiss the wookie again, but the man stops him with a large hand against Kallus’s mouth.

_You sure about that?_

“Yes,” Kallus is almost irate now. “Can we get back to what we were doing, please? We were quite enjoying ourselves.”

Kallus’s pitch grows higher as desperation creeps through. He _needs_ this. Else he will need to face a reality that only promises heartbreak.

 _Nah. You’re cute and all, but you sound like you’re going through some stuff._ The wookie grunts as he pushes him off his lap.

Kallus has never felt so embarrassed in his life. Not only does the humiliation of rejection stings, but the fact that a complete stranger is able to read him so easily is shameful. Is he really so transparent in his desires?

“Fine.” Kallus spits, keeping his head bent down to hide the furious blush covering his cheeks.

 _Sorry. If you ever get over that guy, I’m pretty easy to find. Hopefully you don’t try to arrest us like the first time._ The wookie pats Kallus’s cheek and oh stars, it’s even more humiliating.

Then he realizes. _The first time._ He didn’t recognize the wookie, but now he knows who his companion is: Han Solo. One of the most annoying men he’s ever met and someone who will never let him live down what just happened.

“Kriff. Fuck. You’re-you’re Solo’s partner.”

 _Don’t worry, I won’t spill. He would be insufferable if he got wind of your thing._ Chewbacca (that’s his name, Kallus remembers now) shrugs, but Kallus can’t stop the panic washing over him.

Kallus doesn’t even say goodbye. He tears himself away, throws the bartender a handful credits, and _runs_.

He crosses the bar’s threshold in a rush, pushing a disgruntled twi’lek out of his way. He runs until he’s out of breath.

It’s cold, and Kallus thinks of Barhyn.

_3 years later._

“Babe.”

“Babe.”

“Huh?”

Kallus snaps out of his thoughts, peering at Zeb through his holo display.

“I was sayin’, that smuggler the princess brought in? Apparently he knows ya.”

“Tragically.”

“Any history there?” Zeb inquires.

“Hardly,” Kallus scoffs at the thought. “He’s not my type.”

“More into big and furry, eh?” Zeb grins wide, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculously endearing manner.

“Mm-mm.”

“C’mere.” Zeb leans down and tenderly kisses Kallus, in the way he always does and in the way Kallus can’t quite believe he deserves.

When he pulls away, they’re both smiling. Kallus gently runs his hand through the lasat’s beard, enjoying the moment. Zeb is still grinning, though. Something is off here.

“Speaking of big and furry,” Zeb starts, as he’s about to reveal the punchline of the most hilarious joke, and Kallus is absolutely terrified. “Solo’s partner had an interesting story about a bar in Nar Shaddaa…”

“Zeb!” Kallus shouts, standing up from his chair in indignation.

“Did ya really make out with a wookie to get over me?” And Zeb is laughing, but it’s not mockery. He wraps his arms around the ex-Imperial and tangles his fingers in Kallus’s golden hair.

“Obviously it didn’t work.” Kallus mutters, burying his face in Zeb's chest.

“I guess I’m special.”

“You are, Zeb. You are.” Kallus says. And after a lifetime of lying, he means every word.


End file.
